Dust and Echoes
by Saetan SaDiablo
Summary: A Work-in-progress of a new Herald, set after the Mage-Storms.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** All things relating to the Valdemar series, and the concepts of Heralds, Companions, Tayledras, etc. are the sole property of the author Mercedes Lackey.

**Original characters herein are owned as follows:** Herald Avi, the main character in this story, and most of the minor supporting cast are mine.

**Notes:** Timing on this story is set a few years after the end of the Storm series, where the known world is slowly rebuilding from the devastation.

**Dust and Echoes**

Chapter One

The sound of thunder was a harsh crash across the village, as dark streets were lit only occasionally by bright flashes of lightning and the wind whipped loose shutters around like a child playing with a toy. The rain accompanying the storm was a driving downpour certain to make anyone miserable if they were unlucky enough to be caught in it. For the young man huddled at the bottom of a large pit, however, none of these made half as much impression on him as the all pervading cold seeping into his skin through the tattered clothes draped across him.

Sitting huddled on the ground, his back to a rough dirt wall, he glanced up briefly, letting the bitter drops wash the tears from his face. His throat was too sore to speak, ragged from hoarse screaming for hour after hour, but it mattered little, he imagined, as there was no one to speak with. Strewn around him were scraps of food, rocks and remnants of broken eggs, all of which had matching bruises on his body where they had landed hours earlier, while the crowd had gathered to jeer down at him and taunt him.

His mind was still reeling with the speed of it. Not five hours ago he had been on his casually weaving his way in and out of crowds; stopping here and there at a merchant's to pick up some goods for his family. Market day was a grand adventure for him, usually. The village of Willowdeep was the largest for many leagues, and his father had been allowing him to make the trip since his last birthday, when he turned fourteen. It had been a proud moment for him then, and he still enjoyed the freedom of the walk to and from the village.

This time, however, something had gone wrong. He had skipped around a corner and stopped in his tracks, staring at the ground in front of him. He barely had a chance to register what he was seeing before a rough hand slapped down on his shoulder and a voice spoke from behind him. "Well now, lad. Seems you're in a bit of trouble."

Thinking back, he wished now he had spoken up, claimed his innocence, tried to explain – but he had been too shocked. The image of the woman and her child, both lying there in a pool of blood, their necks ripped like—he sobbed into his sleeve, trying to make the vision go away, but each flash of lightning made him see it again, as though it were burned into his eyelids.

The villagers had been sick with anger, and in their fury they had cast him here, into a pit dug near the center of town, where refuse was usually burned, and criminals sometimes kept until judgment could be passed. The only reason he was still alive, one of them had said, was that they were going to wait until after the storm had had its way with him. The worst of them, however, had braved the beginnings of the cold rain to throw things at him before retreating to their warm houses and hot meals. Now he huddled in this pit, sitting in three inches of water, and wondered if he might not drown before the storm ended. Then he shook his head as he started to wonder if that might not be mercy compared to the villager's anger.

Just then a sound came to him, and he shook his head to try and clear his ears of water, certain he must have been mistaken. There was no way someone would be chiming bells out in this storm. But a moment later he heard it again, more clearly. It was definitely a soft chiming noise, like a sweet bard's bell, and not even the incessant thunder was drowning it out now. He realized in a flash as sudden as the lightning what it must be, and began screaming once again, ignoring the pain in his throat. "Help! Help me, please!"

The chiming paused a moment, and then changed, becoming more rapid and then the sounds of hooves pounding into the ground accompanied them. A moment later a head looked over the edge of the pit. The figure was difficult to make out, but judging from the cloak and the horse he assumed the rider was in fact a Herald as he had hoped. "Please, help me!"

The figure sat there a long moment, and he felt his hope fading, for surely a Herald would not sit by and watch a man suffer. Then the figure disappeared and he felt his heart sink, felt tears begin to flow again – just as the end of a rope sank into the mud next to him. A voice from above, sounding very tired, trickled down along with the rain, which was beginning to turn to sleet, stinging his skin. "Grab hold."

He did, his fingers not working at first, and he had to force the bones to work as the cold had frozen them into a slumber. When he had the rope, he pulled once and then he was rising, sliding belly first up the slimy muddy wall, not caring as freedom came ever closer. When he reached the top however, what he saw dismayed him. The Herald, for that was what the figure was, by his white outfit, was surrounded by villagers, all speaking and demanding justice immediately upon the criminal – the murderer.

The next few moments passed in a blink, as he was picked up harshly and carried into a large room and dumped unceremoniously on the hard wooden floor. When he started to rise a kick slammed into his stomach and he reeled, curling up to protect himself. When he could see again, the Herald was sitting at a table, staring at him. The villagers were silent, except for one who was explaining that he had killed the wife and child of a merchant in town in cold blood, and embellishing the details with more gore than even his vivid mental image carried.

The Herald's eyes dimmed and he shook his head, his mouth curling down in distaste, lips pressed thinly together. He raised a hand, looking as though even that much movement took a supreme effort, and the villager fell quiet. When the Herald spoke, the world fell apart for the young man curled on the floor. "Have your justice, then."

He tried to crawl towards the Herald, to plead with him, but another kick slammed him back into darkness, and a brief image of many villagers approaching him flashed into his eyes before the blows began landing, growing in strength and speed. He could do nothing but cry and scream through his torn throat as he felt bones break and the breath was forced from him. Brief images of men and women holding wooden planks, chairs and other instruments seemed to drag on in slow motion.

Then a new sound arose, and for just a moment he wondered if the Herald were riding away already, when suddenly the door smashed open, splintering, and a large horse crashed into the crowd, sending villagers flying in every direction. The horse screamed, and hooves lashed out, the crowd dashing away. For an instant he thought he was dead, that the hooves would crash down and crush him, but then the horse came down softly and reached down, its mouth closing on his shirt back, and he felt himself being lifted, and swung, and then he landed on the horses back, hanging on desperately, draped over it on his sore belly. The horse swept its head around to the other side and looked at him, and he realized then that it was no horse, but a companion, when the most peculiar voice screamed, seemingly inside his head. _:No__! They can not have you, you are mine! I choose you! They can not have you!:_

Then the world went dark and he knew no more.


	2. Chapter Two

**_Chapter Two_**

Skif leaned against the wall and massaged his forehead, wondering why he'd wound up out here in the backwoods of Valdemar, instead of back in a nice cushioned bed in Haven. _::Remind me again why I had to be all noble and volunteer to swap circuits with __Griffin__, love?::_ He felt the unmistakable mental laughter of his companion, Cymry, a moment before she responded.

_::Because you're a wonderful person, of course, like all Heralds. Besides, __Griffin__ needed to be home right now, with his gifts at Selenay's disposal.::_ That thought brought a grim moment with it. It had been years since the Mage Storms had devastated the lands surrounding Valdemar, but new trouble seemed to be springing up from somewhere lately. There had been two assassination attempts on Selenay's life, and three on King Tremane's.

Skif could hear Cymry walking around outside in the courtyard of the small inn. They had ridden hard to reach the small village by dawn after the young boy had practically fallen into their laps the night before. Something was going on, but he couldn't tell what. The people seemed perfectly normal, but there was something under the surface he couldn't put a finger on, and no one seemed eager to talk to a stranger, even a Herald.

Sighing, he straightened and walked back into the common room, where a few men sat, talking quietly. The innkeep glanced in his direction from the door to the kitchen, but looked away quickly. _::I think it's time for the Herald to head to sleep.::_

Cymry snickered. _::And the thief to come out and play? I agree, this doesn't seem like a situation where Herald Skif will learn anything useful. Luckily, I'm a good choice of character and made sure your other skills were useful as well.::_

Skif smiled and then raised his normal voice. "Thank you for the early meal, innkeep. I need to turn in, it's been a long night." He watched the man's face carefully, and sure enough the man smiled, his first genuine smile of the night, Skif judged.

"Of course, Herald. Sleep well, I'm sure you'll need your rest to be moving on when you wake." The man nodded as though his statement was an immutable fact.

Skif nodded amiably and took the stairs, bringing out his key and unlocking the door to his room, then locking it again behind him. He wasted no time, but changed from his whites into a set of dark gray clothes provided to him by another Herald, who also shared Skif's affinity for this sort of work. _::Of course, if Alberich were to come to this town, he'd be noticed regardless of his clothing.::_ Cymry shared a mental image of Alberich in his mercenary persona. _::This doesn't seem like a place toughs would frequent.::_

And of course she was right. One street urchin keeping to the shadows, however, might be overlooked if he was foolish enough to be seen, which Skif had no plans on. He checked the door again to make sure it was firmly locked, then propped a chair under the handle to keep anyone with another key from getting in easily. Then, turning to the window, he silently opened it, and threw a leg over the sill. The light was still dim in the early morning, and the only smoke in the sky was from a single building, likely a baker's.

Reaching up, he caught the edge of the roof and gently pulled himself up, twisting to lie flat along the thatch. Luckily, this inn was well tended and the roof was fresh and firm. He rose to a crouch and edged his way to the end, then stepped across to the next roof. This was no large city like Haven, but the buildings were close enough to let him get where he wanted, and soon enough he was laying along the roof of the town hall.

Slipping a set of tools from his belt pouch, he cut a small hole in the roof and laid his ear to it. Nothing. _::Perfect, guess I'm early.::_

Cymry had remained in the courtyard, ostensibly working off her run from the night, but ready to run to Skif in a heartbeat if his cover was blown. A groom had brought her a small bag of oats she had eaten earlier, barely enough that Skif couldn't complain too loudly about the charge. _::If anyone will talk about it, even. We have no idea what we're dealing with here. Just a vague unease and the near murder of one boy.::_

Skif thought about it. ::_No__. I can't believe this all happened and they'll just act like nothing happened. Someone will talk. I just have to hope it's done here, and that it hasn't passed already.::_ He stretched and settled in to wait.

::_Skif__!!_:: He woke with a start, freezing out of habit. He felt his face flush and realized he had fallen asleep. ::_Three__ men just walked into the hall._:: Cymry's voice was serious, and he silently thanked her for not teasing him about his brief nap.

The sound of footsteps was the first thing he heard, followed by the scraping of chairs on a wooden floor. He held his breath and focused on listening. The first man to speak had a high pitched voice, nasal and whiny, but he was speaking quietly, and Skif had to strain to hear his words. "We have to do something. The brat got away, and now there's a new Herald in town. He's sleeping, but we have to assume he's here for—"

He was cut off by another man, with a deep gravelly voice. "We don't assume anything. We proceed as planned. The Herald will be removed, someone is taking care of that right now. The archers will bring the demon horse down afterwards, and we'll continue with the spell."

"It's too risky! If this 'herald' manages to send a message with their blasted mind magic, the entire operation could be compromised. I say we should move to a new town, and find a new pet." The first man was more whiny, clearly unhappy about the situation.

The third man spoke now, his voice a rich deep timbre with a melodious tone to it. "Friends, we're here to finish our mission, and finish our mission we shall. The Herald is no threat, we've already set up a spell to block their witch magic, and in a few days we will be ready to proceed to the next step."

The second man laughed softly. "Good. The sooner we can get out of this barbaric land the better. I want to head back and deal with the traitor." His next words froze Skif's heart in his throat. "We will teach these barbarians that they should never have forgotten about the Empire."

Cymry had been quiet through all of this, though she heard clearly through Skif. Now, though, she spoke, her mindspeech full of anger and fear. _::Skif! Three men just went into the inn, they look like mercs, possibly assassins! I don't see archers, but they have to be close!::_

Skif didn't hesitate. _::Run! Get out of here, I'll try to meet up with you out in the forest, but someone has to get out and warn Selenay!::_

Down the street, he saw Cymry suddenly burst into motion, stretched out into a full gallop almost instantly, startling the groom. She was nearly to the edges of the town when arrows began sailing through the air. She neighed and twisted, dodging, and the arrows missed by a hair's width. Then she was gone, nothing more than a flash of white among the trees.

Skif listened as the men inside cursed and the footsteps told him they were running for the door, then sprang to a crouch and began edging his way towards the woods. With any luck he could make it most of the way there before anyone realized he wasn't in his room. The pack he had taken there had nothing but a few rations and his Whites in them, nothing he would miss, but the sooner they found it the sooner he would have trouble looking for him.

He had made it halfway to the woods when an arrow tore into the roof a foot to his left. So much for stealth, he thought, and jumped to his feet, running across rooftops as quickly as he could. Behind him, he heard yells and shouts as he ran. Glancing back he saw a few guards chasing him, but the most curious thing to him was the villagers, just standing there as though they were oblivious, eyes glazed. Then he reached the edge of the last house and had no choice but to jump. As he did, he felt a burst of pain and looked down to see an arrow through his left arm. Tears flooded his eyes, but he blinked them back and rolled as he hit the ground, coming up and running for the trees again. More arrows fell, but he got lucky and reached the forest without another hit.

He was still wondering what to do next when he heard hoofbeats and looked up to see Cymry racing towards him. He jumped and grabbed her mane in mid-gallop, legs closing in the saddle as he apologized for the yank. _::You're hurt!::_

He hung on grimly, and glanced behind them again, watching the town fade from view. He turned back and closed his eyes, focusing on the smooth beat of Cymry's gait. _::I'll live. Ride, love. Get us back to Haven.::_

They rode. Skif lost track of time, and places as they galloped full speed through forest and villages, startling townsfolk. Suddenly Skif jerked and realized he was falling asleep again, then glanced down at the arrow in his arm and realized it wasn't sleep. He reached down and snapped off the tail of the arrow, then squeezed his eyes shut and pulled on the head, giving a shout as the pain tore through him. He saw stars, and barely managed to drop the arrow into a saddlebag, before he felt a wave of blackness wash over him, and he wondered if he had waited too long. Just before he faded into unconsciousness, he heard Cymry shout.

_::ROLAN!!!!::_

*     *     *


	3. Chapter Three

**_Chapter Three_**

Herald Griffin stood at attention to the side of the throne Selenay sat in, listening to yet another petitioner asking for assistance with bandits to the west. He struggled to remain impassive, even as he felt himself slipping dangerously close to nodding off out of boredom. He silently began wishing something different would arise, even as Selenay began giving her responses. The Hall was drafty today, with drafts somehow finding a way in despite the staff's best efforts to the contrary.

Even the stoic palace guards were shivering a bit under their livery. The councilors stood to one side of the room, huddled together and whispering to one another. Griffin was amused to see that Dirk was actually using a wall tapestry as a shawl, wrapping himself partially in it and trying to remain un-noticed.

After a time, the line of petitioners shrank and Griffin was able to concentrate on the dinner soon to come. He preferred the duties of a field herald to court life, but he could understand why Selenay needed him here. With the bandits to the west, unexplained creatures to the east and the recent assassination attempts, his Firestarting talents had already proven extremely useful, and deadly to Valdemar's enemies.

He sighed silently. ::_Feeling lonely again?_:: His companion, Darla, asked in her quiet tone. She was extremely sensitive to his mood, and usually managed to cheer him easily, but with each use of his gifts lately the feeling grew more and more that even here among heralds he was separate from the group. Not through any fault of his friends, who loved him as much as any other herald, and saw only one more herald doing his best for Valdemar, but simply by the sheer responsibility of his gift.

He thought again of Lavan Firestorm, and swallowed. He knew only too well the Dragon spoken of in the Chronicles – the secret chronicles which he had been shown during his training. The feeling of fury and power that threatened to overwhelm him each time he loosed his gift against another living being was a bitter taste in Griffin's mouth, but with Darla's help, and his friends' care, he shouldered the burden and struck out against the enemies he was forced against.

_::No more so than usual. I just want this audience to end so we can get into warmer clothing and stop listening to chatter about land disputes and school financing.::_ He was about to lean down to offer a comment to Selenay who had just murmured a question to him, when a sound broke across the chamber that stopped every heart there.

Three long haunting tones rang out, seeming to last through one another, and continuing to echo across the faces of those gathered there. Griffin had only a moment to recognize the Death Bell before the vision flashed into his mind.

_The huge figure was standing over him, sword raised to strike, eyes flashing in the darkness. The armor was black, with jagged spikes and edges. The view spun, and behind him he saw the crumpled form of a companion lying motionless on the ground. His eyes were burning, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he turned back to see the figure laugh. Then he felt rage build, as though it were outside of him but carrying him along in its wake, and the familiar feeling of the Dragon roaring to be free._

_Flames burst into being at his fingertips as he reached up towards the blade which began slowly swinging down towards him. Everything slowed as the flames shot out to meet the blade, and the metal exploded, molten drops of steel flying backwards into the figure, who cried out and flung up his arm to guard his helmed face. Then he tore his helm off as the fire spread over the armor itself. Griffin felt sick as he recognized the man behind the helm as Herald Thallick, assigned to the northwest sector. The flames tore over him and in a moment nothing remained but the echoes of screams._

_The view twisted once more, and centered on the fallen companion, who now had another companion standing over it. With a shock __Griffin__ saw that although the new companion was injured, its stance and the blood on its legs marked it as the attacker of the fallen companion! The fury was nearly out of control at this point, and the companion laid its ears back and began slowly stepping forward, but flames were now twirling in the air, and soon obscured everything—_

Griffin snapped back to himself with a nearly audible snap, and saw as he recovered that every herald present was doing the same. His mind struggled to make sense of what he had seen. Companion attacked companion, a herald in armor killed by a firestarter? Selenay turned towards him, the question clear on her lips, when another sound followed the death bell – that of dozens of companions screaming. Darla's mind voice was full of emotion so turbulent he couldn't tell whether she was angry, afraid or mourning. _::Cymry and Skif have been attacked!::_

Every herald in the room immediately burst to their feet and began running full speed out of the chamber towards the road. The councilors and petitioners shrank back, eyes wide, wondering what was happening. As they came out to the road, they saw a lone companion galloping directly towards the palace, with guards and more heralds in pursuit. It took a moment before Griffin could see Skif draped over her back, swathed in gray rags.

Keren reached them first and immediately pulled Skif from the saddle, then began running towards the Healer Hall, carrying Skif as though he weighed nothing. Talia followed, her eyes dim and tears flowing like tiny crystal rivers in the moonlight. Elspeth and Darkwind threw their arms around Cymry and tried to calm her and comfort the poor companion, but the rage and anger was so strong even Griffin could hear her mindspeech. ::The Empire! The Empire has sent agents; they have been using spells and are controlling people! The entire town has gone crazy!:: Her words became less coherent and more desperate, and Selenay led her off to the companion field where the other companions crowded around her.

When Selenay walked back over, her expression was grim. "If the Empire has resurfaced, and has already taken at least one town of Valdemar, we have much work to do. An emergency council will need to be held immediately. Griffin, please summon the council and make sure the kitchen has something for us. We're going to be a while."

She walked off, leaving Griffin to wonder who the firestarter had been.

*          *          *


	4. Chapter Four

_**Chapter Four**_

Avi awoke in a rush, flailing desperately; trapped in the nightmarish memory of the beatings he had taken, and felt someone press him back down. He opened his eyes, trying to see, and realized he was in a bed, and a comfortable one at that. He blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes and make out who it was holding him.

After a few moments he managed to clear the blurry images and see that the person perched on the side of his bed was actually a young woman, perhaps a few years older than he, wearing a pale green robe and smiling at him. She was beautiful, golden hair trailing down over one shoulder to rest against her robes and her smile making her green eyes sparkle.

"Rest, you're going to be fine." She reached over to a small table and took a small cup there, handing it to him. As he fumbled for it, she continued speaking. "My name is Alyn, I'm a Healer trainee. I'm afraid this village is too small for a full time Healer, but I was home visiting family, and you were rather bad off, so I didn't think you'd prefer to wait until you got to Haven. Luckily, you didn't have anything broken, so most of what you needed was rest and a few mixtures for the pain and fever."

As she was speaking, he took a drink of the potion, and choked, it was awful. With a swift reach though, she tipped the cup up until he was forced to swallow or wear it, and he didn't want to be rude and make her change the bedding, so he downed it in a rush. When she finished, he finally managed to get a word in.

"Ah.. My companion?" She blinked, looking surprised.

"Well, yes. I mean, you are her chosen, aren't you? Companions don't generally carry people around that aren't, and then constantly try to get into the house to see you. Mother had a fit, let me tell you. Hoof prints all over." She giggled, and he laughed a bit himself at the thought, realizing she wasn't older as he had thought. "Do you remember what happened? How you got this way, I mean?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I mean, I vaguely remember walking to the village – that is, my village, Willowdeep, and then it gets sort of fuzzy. I remember being attacked, beaten, but.." His voice rose as he tried to remember, and the girl laid a hand on his forehead.

"Shh. Easy. It's over. It will come, in time. Don't try to force it." She frowned, and reached to the table again, this time laying a cool damp cloth on his forehead. "You've a bit of fever still. Nothing serious. You should be fine to move in a day or two. Just sleep, you need your strength." She stood, and he opened his mouth to protest, but to his surprise only a yawn came out. His vision swam again, and before she reached the door he was asleep.

When he woke again, the shutters in the room were open and sunlight streamed in, brightening the room – and his mood – quite a bit. He was wondering what to do when the door opened and an older woman bustled in with a small tray. Seeing him awake, she smiled. "Ah good, you're awake! I imagine you'll be wanting some food, youngling. Here you are. Eat up!" And she was gone back out the door before he could open his mouth.

Shrugging, he made short work of the excellent meal, not invalid's fare but a real meat-pie and some sort of juice. He was licking his fingers when she returned and grinned. "Excellent! Now, if you'd care to try to walk a bit, feel free. Your companion is worrying herself sick, and Alyn will be glad to get her bed back soon, I'm sure." He blushed, drawing a laugh from the woman. "No, don't you worry. She wouldn't hear anything other than that you'd have the bed. She takes her training seriously, my daughter does, and I couldn't be more proud of her."

He pulled the covers back and turned, sitting up on the edge of the bed, and paused a moment as the room steadied. Finally, he eased himself forward and rose, standing, one hand on the bedpost for balance. Once he was up, he was overcome by a fierce need to get outside and see the companion. Surprised, he nevertheless stumbled one step after another towards the main room of the house. The woman followed, hovering nearby but not so near as to make him feel that she thought he was too weak. When he reached the front door, he hesitated, but reached down and twisted the handle, pushing it open.

Standing not three feet from the door was the companion, ears perked forward and eyes looking him over. Alyn was also there, brushing the companion down. He stepped forward and threw his arms around the companions neck, burying his head against her and just enjoying the moment. Alyn stepped back and watched. As he stood there, he remembered her words floating to his mind, and her name. "Atria," he whispered.

After a moment, he looked up and reached up to scratch behind Atria's ears. She whickered softly and pushed against him with her head. He laughed. "Alright, alright. I know, you want to be on the road. I don't know why, but I can just tell you're in a hurry." He was puzzled a moment, but chalked it up to the strange gifts he'd heard Companions had. Turning, he spread his hands at Alyn and her mother.

"I only have a small bit of coin to offer for your care. I can try to get more soon-"

The mother cut him off in mid sentence. "Nah, don't even think on it, youngling. You're a Herald trainee. The Queen makes provisions for this sort of thing. And besides, I couldn't charge ye for helping anyway. Wouldn't be right." She eyed him a moment. "But actually, there is something I'd like to ask of you, if you don't mind."

He shook his head. "Of course not! What can I help with?"

She smiled. "Well, Alyn here needs to get back to haven, and I doubt the two of you would be a strain for your friend there. Would you two mind giving her a ride?" He heard Alyn gasp and turned to see her staring at the ground, blushing. Confused, he turned to look at Atria and saw her shaking her head. Then her voice came across to him again. _It's no problem, but we really do need to get moving._

His eyes widened and she whickered again. _It's good you can hear me so early. Most can't, it takes time for the bond to form._ Her mind voice was laced with laughter and he smiled, growing used to it. He turned back. "Atria says it won't be a problem. We'd be happy to offer a ride."

The mother turned to go back inside. "Good. I'll just be a moment, and Alyn, you can get your things." The two went back in and the door shut. He turned back to Atria.

"Are- I mean, am I.. Am I really a herald?"

_You're going to be. You're a Trainee right now. Once we get to Haven, they'll teach you how to be a Herald. And no matter what, I'll always be right here for you._

He sat there and just thought about that for a few minutes, until the door opened and they came back out. Alyn had a small pack, and her mother had another, which she handed to him. "There you go. That should last you until Haven. If not, I'm sure Atria knows where to get more."

Atria nodded, and Avi tied both packs to her saddle, which he had barely even realized was there. Then he stood back and offered Alyn a hand mounting. After she had done so, he struggled into the saddle himself, a lot less gracefully than Alyn had managed. "Thank you again."

The woman smiled again and waved. "It was no problem, just get my Alyn safely back! Alyn, dear, I'll see you at Midwinter."

Turning, Atria started towards the road, and as they turned onto it she began to pick up speed, until Alyn reached around and held onto him, and sped into a gallop. Avi couldn't help but wonder at the smoothness of it. _Hang on, I'm going to try to make Haven by tomorrow night, so we have some hard riding ahead._

He relayed that thought to Alyn and she nodded. Then he simply concentrated on what he might find in Haven as they sped down the road.


End file.
